


The Ten Millionth Time

by mediumrawr



Category: House
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediumrawr/pseuds/mediumrawr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>One of my earliest works, transposed here from FF.net for the sake of completeness.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Ten Millionth Time

**Author's Note:**

> One of my earliest works, transposed here from FF.net for the sake of completeness.

This is the middle of their story; but face it, the part that comes before is angst and pain and anger, and the part that comes after is mostly sadness, followed by a great big boring happiness; and frankly, this middle part is really just pain and sorrow too, but this – not the before, and not the after, but this right now is what matters.

Perhaps I will tell you of a beginning and of an end later; for now, this is the important part of the story of Doctor Gregory House and his employee, Doctor Allison Cameron.

She shows up at the door of his apartment, and knocks even though there's a doorbell. He has a bad leg and he would rather sit and watch reruns of bad soap operas(so bad even he thinks they're bad), but he notices things, he notices that a salesman would have used the doorbell, and Cuddy would have used the doorbell, and Wilson just opens the door and walks in, and no one else has ever come here without calling first. Finally, curiosity gets the better of him and he picks up his cane and uses it to haul himself to his feet(man walked on three legs in evening, he thinks for the ten millionth time), and he hobbles to the door.

As it opens he sees her back, retreating, and he considers(selfishly) letting her go. The door decides for him; it has an annoying squeak that before he had been planning to get rid of and now he thinks he will cherish for the rest of his life, because he sees her face, framed by the hood of a black sweatshirt, filled with hope, mangled by an ugly gash. He nods his head and she turns and comes back. He makes space in the doorway for her to pass through; she does. He hobbles back inside and finds her standing awkwardly in the living room. He pats his favorite recliner and she sits. She tries to hide the twinge of pain; he pretends not to see it. He goes to his closet and retrieves his medical supplies. By the time he returns she has settled into it and she's sitting back, her eyes closed. He pulls out a cream and begins applying it to her gash; she does not protest. When he's finished, he applies a bandage, which he thinks sadly looks just as ugly as the cut did on her cheek.

Her eyes are open, watching. He is uncomfortable with the attention, so he looks for something else. The television is still on, still playing the bad soap opera. He picks up his cane again and pushes himself over to the couch(his willpower trumps his weakness, she thinks for the ten millionth time), where the remote control is, and he turns off the bad soap opera with a click.

He comes back from the kitchen with a glass of water and she's curled up on the recliner, her head on the armrest. The hooded sweatshirt is discarded on the floor, revealing bare arms with ugly purple bruises. He realized then that he had not seen her out of her white coat in weeks.

She raises her head to look at him and he melts. He limps over to the sofa beside her recliner, puts the water down on the table, and sits. She tries to smile for him; he tries to smile back for her.

He wakes up an hour later(he doesn't remember falling asleep, just remembers looking at her) and she's gone.


End file.
